Painting the Day
by heartachequisition
Summary: He had drawn her so many times that he'd memorized her every feature - but the startling thing is, he hadn't even met her yet. HaruTaka, implied ShinAya. AU.


**A/N:** Trying to quell writer's block... with more writing. Yes, I see a lot of logic there too. Regardless, here's something I've wanted to write for a while, and though it didn't turn out exactly as I hoped, I'm more or less happy with it so I hope you enjoy it too! Thank you.

* * *

Haruka had been drawing her ever since he could remember.

Her features were clear in his mind, and clear on the paper – each delicate pencil stroke replicating her sharp chin and cute nose, her narrow eyes and dark hair, her soft lips and her lithe frame – clear as if she were right there with him.

From the very beginning, he liked to think she had always been there.

However, despite his unfathomable loyalty to her, she never had a name. It was simply because all the names he gave her just _didn't fit, _but also because she always had the same gentle smile he couldn't possible use words to describe.

He watched as his latest picture of her was tugged gently from under his hands, the thin, bony fingers of his best friend claiming it. Shintaro, younger by only one year but with the mind of someone decades older, examined the drawing with practiced eyes.

"It's this girl again," he commented, not a hint of scrutiny in his tone. "You really like to draw her, don't you?"

"I guess so," Haruka mumbled in reply, running a hand through his messy black hair. The tattered school desk beneath him felt bare without her on top of it. "I feel like she's important to me."

The picture made its way back to his desk, the burning interest in Shintaro's expression lost. "I can't say I know what you mean," he said, "But I suppose I'm glad you're enjoying yourself."

Haruka smiled, tracing the outline of his drawing fondly. "Thank you, Shintaro. Thank you."

* * *

Years later found Shintaro and himself attending a local art gallery. Bashfully, Haruka admitted that it was his own art in the exhibition, and yet he was surprisingly bitter about the entire situation behind closed doors.

"I just don't want the world to see her." He told Shintaro forlornly, shaking his head at his own paintings on the walls. "She's being seen by people I don't know or trust, and I don't like it."

His friend sighed deeply, as if the answer were simple. "Then draw something else."

"I do," the artist protested, "But the exhibitors insist that she's my best work."

"Probably because she is."

Haruka pouted, the vision of childish innocence on a grown man not at all out of place. "Oh, Shintaro. Are you on my side or are you not?"

"I am on the side of logic," Shintaro answered, "And logic says that you have been drawing her for years and years which is why I have now deduced that she is your best work."

"But –"

"You know it too. There's a visual divide between your other work and the masterpieces you create when _she's _involved."

"But Shintaro –" He was ready to start whining like a true adult, when behind him a similar plea of "_But Takane –" _distracted him and Shintaro could barely react before the artist was on the floor.

By some course of nature working in mysterious ways, a petite brunette girl had tripped backwards into Haruka, sending her phone flying across the floor with little effort. They helped each other up, in a swift, awkward manner, as Shintaro leaned against the wall being of no help to anyone.

"I am so, so sorry!" The brunette clasped her hands together, bowing so her cascading locks of chestnut hair concealed her face from view.

Haruka chuckled, politely. "It's okay, as long as nobody got hurt."

The shrieking from her phone suddenly alerted her to its escapade, and hurriedly the girl went to pick it up before it got stepped on. Then she returned, murmuring a quick "talk to you later" into the receiver and directing her full attention to the man she bumped into.

Her rich, dark eyes gazed at him earnestly, before she seemed to regain sense of her surroundings. "I really am sorry," she said after a moment, "I'm a real klutz all the time. It never stops. I am doomed to be forever clumsy."

He laughed lightly, finding a sort of instant kinship with the girl. "I know what you mean. The only part of me that isn't clumsy is my hands, but that's because I've spent ages trying to keep it steady enough to draw. My left hand suffers, as a result."

"Ah, you draw?" Her face lit up, a healthy pink glow dusting her cheeks. "Do you have any art here?"

Apparently sick of being ignored, Shintaro cut in, his arm stretching out over her shoulder as he pointed out Haruka's treasured painting. "He did a few of them, but that's the one you came here to see," Shintaro said with brimming confidence. "There's no other artwork here that compares to it."

"Shintaro – no –" Haruka resisted the urge to slap his friend for such over-the-top compliments, but the brunette seemed well convinced.

"Actually, that's the one I wanted to ask about!"

Shintaro shot him a questioning look, but the artist could only shrug. "What do you mean…?"

"Well, you see," unlocking her phone, the girl continued to speak as she flicked through it, "I have a friend that looks _exactly _like that girl in the picture, and I was wondering if maybe you knew her? I'd be seriously surprised if you did, because she literally does not get out of the house unless it's for a gaming convention or god knows what –"

Again it was Shintaro who reacted the fastest, sifting through her ramble to latch onto the very point that just crossed Haruka's mind. "Exactly like that?" His friend inquired, disbelieving gaze scanning her face for a scam. "As in not just similar, but _exactly_?"

She nodded, "That's what I said!"

"That's not possible." Haruka broke in, his smile dropping from his face. His art was his lover, his beloved refuge and _she _was the center of his artistic universe – "She's not a real person."

The girl shrugged a little, stretching her arms out and then pulling them to her chest, pressing the phone to her face. "I'm just saying, y'know, she looks a bit like this, doesn't she?" She flipped the screen over, so it faced them.

He had drawn those very features so many times that there was no mistaking it.

Haruka felt his heart stop.

There was no way.

The photo faded from the screen as quickly as the shock had hit him, but he could no longer think straight. His stomach churned, and then there were tears in his eyes, clouding his vision. He let himself be dragged by Shintaro out of the building and into the courtyard, his friend gesturing for their new companion to follow.

They sat down at the benches a short distance away, but he was already gasping for air.

His entire life was –

Well, it was hard to say now.

He could barely breathe, and he drew further into himself as he thought of his life's only constant; her fiery, hazel eyes and her irritated little half-smile, and the way she spoke words he couldn't hear when he was dreaming, because that was the only place he had ever seen her alive.

But that was going to change, wasn't it?

Braving the silence, though it wasn't really brave considering who was speaking, Shintaro began, "So Miss, we're going to need your name and contact number for insurance purposes in case you accidentally lead this guy into a spontaneous heart attack."

"Ayano," she replied in a heartbeat, not finding him funny at all but cracking a smile all the same, "If you could please hand me your phone, I'll type it in myself."

Shintaro did so, all the while rubbing Haruka on the back as the artist looked as if he was going to throw up. "You okay?" he whispered, and the artist only shook his head. She had existed all this time and he hadn't known… he felt completely and utterly betrayed by life. Yet, the hope began to flicker in his eyes - she was real, she was living, she _existed_.

"Her name is Takane." Ayano spoke up quietly, fiddling with the squishy bread and rabbit phone charms on her cell. "She's 21, and she plays video games for a living. She seems a bit like a, uh..." she paused, trying to find the words, "… a prickly cactus when you first meet her. But she really has a kind heart."

She handed Shintaro his phone back, both their faces reddening when they held hands longer than necessary. "I, um," she waved her other hand casually, "I put her number in there too. Just in case. If that's alright."

He nodded mutely, and she averted her gaze, suddenly tense.

"Hey Ayano," Haruka addressed her gently, the sick feeling slowly subsiding as the clockwork of his mind struck on. He was never a pessimist, in the end. "Does um… she…"

"Takane?"

The name was so perfect for her, the way he had always imagined her, that he wanted to burst into tears all over again. He didn't. Shintaro's knowing look brought him back to life.

"… Takane…" He repeated slowly, "… does she know?"

"You mean about the paintings?"

He nodded.

"No," Ayano shot him a sweet smile. "I was talking to her on the phone earlier, because I wanted to show her, but she was in the middle of a livestream so she yelled at me, haha…"

"I see…" The corners of his mouth tugged into a reluctant smile in return. "Thank you."

"It's nothing, but can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"If you've never met Takane, then how…?"

His heartbeat lurched into a steady, beating motion, and he finally said the words he had always kept at the back of his mind – ever since he had begun putting the girl to paper.

"I wanted to be together with her. A dream girl, or someone I knew in a past life or something. I think that was my wish from the start."

* * *

Life worked in the way art worked; it would start as a certain point from a certain idea, then spiral into a crazed frenzy, and then finish, abruptly, as the final piece came into view. Then the process would begin again.

Meeting Takane for the first time was less of the sketching, and less of the lining part of life, and Haruka found himself thrust straight into the final product – the product of which flushed red as she tried to form coherent sentences to speak to him.

"Er, Ayano, told… me… about. About the drawings and things. About you. And everything. All the things." She finally got out, her voice somewhat rough and cutting and not at all like dripping honey or rippling waves, but he loved it all the same.

There was an intense break in the conversation, because though his curious eyes were focused on her, his mouth refused to move. No matter how many unsaid words were spinning around his brain.

"… what?" She asked, after she couldn't stand the quiet anymore. He never pinned her as the impatient type but he loved it, and he couldn't get enough of it. Takane fumbled with her hair – tied in a side ponytail reaching her shirt's navy collar – and that, he loved too, because it was different but it was _her. _Human beings had flaws, and she did, plain as day. However, no-one could ever be picture-perfect, but he didn't expect her to be. In his eyes, she was as close to perfect as they could get; but he knew others would beg to differ.

It was a matter of perspective, outside artistic terminology.

"Am I… not what you expected?" She tried again, almost pulling her hair completely free from the carefully constructed ponytail in her fidgeting. "So-sorry if I'm a disappointment or something, I mean –"

" – No, no, you're _perfect_." Haruka clarified, and he meant it.

Her face burned, and she mumbled something before hiding her flaming face in her hands.

"Takane?" He called, after a moment of watching her adorable antics.

She peered through her fingers hesitantly, blush still evident on her cheeks. "Uh, yes?"

"I don't think I can draw her anymore."

Takane blinked. "You mean… your drawings, right? Why? You changed your mind after meeting me?"

He smiled, almost so widely his face hurt. Then a wave of serenity took over his face, and he started to talk again. "Yes, but let me tell you something."

Reaching into his bag, he placed it gingerly on the café table, careful to avoid any stains. Flipping to the first page, her grinning face staring straight up at him, he said, "This is her. I believe this is the first time you've met."

"Wow," Takane breathed, "That's insane."

"But see, Takane," continuing, he flipped to the next page; one of her staring peacefully out the window. "This isn't you. This is the girl I've been drawing my entire life… and she just so happens to look like you."

The gamer nodded, "Okay. That helps in lessening the creepiness of this situation."

"I think you deserve to know, that at one point I fell in love with her. This fictional girl."

Her eyes widened, but she let herself nod again. "Um, congratulations, I think…" she trailed off, but he didn't miss the smile that flashed across her lips.

Then Haruka concluded, shamelessly, almost a declaration of love to this stranger who was so _perfect _in his eyes he couldn't care what others thought. "But I can't draw her anymore, because she can't compare to you."

If Takane was a burning candle before, she had undergone a volcanic eruption by now.

"W-what are you saying, idiot? You've known me for – what – twenty minutes? That's just – that's uh –"

"I know I'm weird, and probably the creepiest guy you've ever met," He laughed then, when Takane muttered "I think your buddy Shintaro wins that award, actually", and shut his sketchbook, never to look at the girl he had been drawing ever since he could remember ever again. "But I would like to ask if you'd at least consider going out with me?"

And to his surprise, the _real _girl of his dreams, pinched both his cheeks with an embarrassed "yes."

* * *

"What are you looking at?" Haruka asked, deliberately avoiding brushing his teeth because it meant he couldn't eat anytime afterwards and that would be a life-ruiner. His girlfriend of four years sat typing on the computer at an amazing speed, only letting her hands rest when he appeared at the doorway.

"Ten bucks says Shintaro and Ayano will confess to each other through emoticons." Takane answered him, eyes not leaving the screen. He walked up behind her, nuzzling the top of her head.

"Ten bucks it is then. I'm sure Shintaro at least as more tact than that."

"I wouldn't be too sure," she teased, "He was taught by you, after all."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Isn't it?"

"I love you," he replied, eliciting a squeak of surprise as he bent down to peck her on the cheek.

"I love you too, you dolt." As an afterthought, she added, "Go brush your teeth, I thought we were getting ready for bed."

"Can't sleep." Haruka smiled, and Takane turned to face him fully, humoring him.

"And why can't you sleep?"

"Because reality is finally better than my dreams."

She laughed – her brilliant, radiant laughter – and he caught her in a tight embrace.

So this was the art of love.


End file.
